


Surviving

by e_wills



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Post-HTTYD2, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 08:16:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14890898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/e_wills/pseuds/e_wills
Summary: Astrid comforts a weary Chief Hiccup, and provides a way to relieve their stresses in the aftermath of Drago's attack on Berk.





	Surviving

Things were not like they had been before, though that really wasn’t a surprise. Berk was different. The world was different—and so they were different now. Adaptability was one of those quintessential survival mechanisms. In a steady and sure course, a whole people could get lost in complacency. Berk had been there, and it had nearly killed them. So, they had an imperative need to adapt; that was where Berk had arrived: survival.

The world kept on turning; diplomacy to be considered, and trading opportunities that cared little if an entire village had been blown to bits. Drago was still alive as well, as far as anyone knew; and to think he’d move on and forget matters? Well, that was foolish. And by all accounts, Hiccup was no fool.

Or rather, he could no longer afford to be.

Astrid worried about him, but that was given. She had her own duties of course, but she made time to see him. Someone had to make sure the new chief ate and slept. Gobber could only do so much with a young man who rarely listened. When Hiccup focused on something, he had tunnel vision; impossible to pry away save for a select few individuals for whom he made special exceptions: Astrid, being one.

She used her special status to her advantage—because what benefitted her also benefitted her lover, in that way committed relationships could nurture and grow two souls together. They couldn’t sneak off like the used to, settling instead for brief conversations and functional displays of affection. They hugged, they kissed, and shared light moments in passing. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t good. It was different: they were surviving.

What made it bearable was the quality of the time they spent together, not quantity. Comfort was found in knowing that their constant rush and the village’s upheaval was temporary. Chaos would eventually give way to a tentative peace like the change in seasons. Hiccup and Astrid would have their summer days again.

But for now, the day-to-day mattered; one day would be hard and the next, a little bit easier. Astrid clung to the happy moments therein, though they might be fleeting, sandwiched somewhere in the daily grind of rebuilding. Fortifying.

“You know…Snotlout and I could fly the island’s perimeter tomorrow—see what natural defenses we can use to our advantage,” she said, pushing a bowl of stew closer to her lover; it had cooled, no longer steaming. Forgotten, as usual.

Hiccup continued to ignore it. He was absently scratching Toothless’s head, staring down at the table, but nowhere in particular.

“You know Berk as well as I do, Astrid. If there was…I don’t know, something that wasn’t readily apparent the first time, surely we’d have noticed it on the subsequent surveying flights we’ve already done. I don’t see how one more flight is going to magically change the landscape.” He waved a hand emphatically.

Astrid sighed, clasping her hands together, resting them on the table. “I’m just trying to be helpful. You don’t have to be like that.”

Hiccup glanced up at her, and his features softened. He winced apologetically, as if he had only just realized who he was speaking to—that Astrid wasn’t one of the dozens of people blurting unsolicited advice at him all day.

“I’m sorry,” he said, weary but genuine. “That came out more biting than I intended it to be.”

Astrid shook her head and rose from her chair to be near him. She stood at his shoulder, touching it gently; Toothless crooned on the other side of him; and the hearth emitted a soothing warmth. The scene was merely a tranquil moment in time, but it felt right—more so than anything had for what seemed like ages.

“You try to do much yourself, you know. There are people all around you who are willing to help. You just have to say the word. You have that power now,” she told him.

Hiccup scoffed. “Power,” he muttered, as if it were a swear word. Then he gazed up at her with a wry smile, “Is this your opinion of me then?”

Astrid rolled her eyes, giving his shoulder a playful squeeze. “My observation, you dork,” she corrected.

He laughed softly and she realized it had been a couple days since she had last heard the sound. It washed over her like warm honey. The tired lines on his face all but disappeared. She could see the gap in his teeth that she had once found so ridiculous yet was now endearing. The fire crackling away in the hearth brought out the red undertones in his hair and cast shadows that accentuated the sharp cut of his jaw. He wasn’t the chief or the boy who had tamed dragons—he was just Hiccup: wonderful and complicated and unconventionally gorgeous as he was.

When his eyes met hers again, the atmosphere changed. A rare laidback evening had grown tense with an unmistakable hunger: it was in the air, heavy and urgent with a few weeks’ worth of unmet need. Neither one of them asked, because words were pointless. Their mutual desire hung palpable in the distance between their eyes, holding fast to one another’s gaze in fear a simple blink could shatter the opportunity.

“I’ve missed you, Astrid,” he said; and it was the way he said it that told her exactly what he wanted.

Because she wanted it to—hadbeen wanting it—though she had been so careful not to overstep in those immediate days of stress and grief. She had waited for Hiccup to come to her, and he did so infrequently enough that she forgot to pursue, to hint.

But there was nothing to distract him then, for one night out of gods knew how many more to come. So, when he turned toward her, twisting awkwardly in his chair, Toothless retreated. Some things were so visceral that even a dragon could recognize.

The mind was a funny thing, capable of hyper-awareness, bust also obliviousness to the minute details it deemed irrelevant—like exactly when and how Hiccup had gotten up from his chair, kissing Astrid back with slow and deliberate passion he hadn’t displayed in a month. Astrid couldn’t care less about the logistics of sex and how they moved across the den while wrapped up in one another; only that it was happening, and that it wouldn’t stop anytime soon.

They breathed one another in, lips moving together with all the steady certainty of an incoming tide. Astrid’s hands sought him out with almost muscle memory. Her fingers glided along the line of his jaw, holding him in place as if he might suddenly get called away again.

He was always on-duty. That was their new normal. Being the Chief was a tireless job. But for that night, he belonged to her—like there was no one else on Berk but them, and the gods knew they deserved it.

Their kiss was mutually greedy, and she reveled in the taste of him, surrendering to his tongue. His lips were unhurried though his hands were already stripping his excess clothing. Something was oddly alluring about the groan of leather as it peeled away from skin; the subtle whisper of fabric being rumpled up and discarded. It was satisfying to hear them hit the floor—now superfluous garments of her metal and his leather—and to see the decorations of Hiccup’s new status fall away until only he remained.

How good it was to be his focus again, and to have her lover filling her senses with the taste, sight, smell, and touch of him; he said little, and made few sounds, with his mouth preoccupied.

Astrid couldn’t bear the thought of another night alone in a cold bed, now that the restraints of responsibility were loosened—but Hiccup was committed, pulling her closer, his hands on her waist.

All the while, he kissed her deeply without a hint of hesitation from being out of practice. He had always been enthusiastic—which counted for a lot—but the gods had saw fit to gift him with inherent skill with his hands that had far more uses than just smithing and dragon training. He knew how to touch and hold—how to be assertive without being demanding, possessive without being controlling. Every caress of her hips, every press of his chest into hers, was a suggestion, not a directive—and so Astrid scarcely refused him anything.

The way their bodies fit together made the room spin from the friction of barley separated skin; with only a thin layer of linen or wool between. They were a perfect match—in sex and many other things. Her curves and his angles complemented each other, like lock and key, and question and answer. Astrid hadn’t felt such pleasant dizziness since she had drunk too much last Snoggletog. Hiccup made her feel that heady rush in an instant. She let go, falling into him with a barely perceptible whimper that earned her a soft moan of unfettered need. Her desire fed his, which fed hers: a perfect feedback loop of mutual give and take.

Somehow, they had made it to the stairs, breathless and undeterred. A few layers of clothes gone, they stumbled up; it was indeed possible to do such a thing. The room Stoick had once occupied was still off-limits, and Valka had not formally moved back in. They were alone—except for their dragons—crossing the expanse of Hiccup’s room as tunics and Astrid’s leggings hit the floor. There was no need to see where they were going; years of practice left them able to map his bedroom blind.

Narrowly controlled desperation drove them. They did not want to rush but were too impatient to slow down and savor it. Astrid’s skin felt aflame; and everywhere Hiccup’s lips and fingers fell sent ripples of pleasure along her nerves, crashing down between her legs, and tightening the coil of desire there. She felt it in every muscle, radiating to every fiber of her and out every pore. When he swept his tongue along her neck, she shuddered. Goosebumps erupted across her skin, and she titled her head back in silent plea. Her pulse rushed in her ears; and she felt her blood, hot and feverish, beneath the lips ghosting over her throat.

Curious how the lightest touch could, at times, burn the hottest. But she supposed that was the effect of wanting someone so ardently—and oh, how she wanted Hiccup. Craved him, really.

His teeth joined his tongue on her body, alternating sharp with softer sensations that left her skin confused and delighted all the same. Her body thrummed to the rhythm of his hands running over her shoulders to her breasts. He knew just how she wanted to be touched with all his practiced skill: he kneaded softly as his thumbs brushed over hardened buds that looked so oddly delicate beneath his fingers.

If sex were a competition, he would be winning, and that just wasn’t acceptable. He led to much, was responsible for too much. It was time for him to be led, and to be someone else’s responsibility.

Astrid squirmed into his caresses, finding her way down to the waistline of his pants. Her efforts to undress him were fumbling, complicated by the clumsiness of eager hands. But he never corrected her, never urged on; he was too captivated by her body to pay much attention to his own—until she had made was a wide enough gap in the front of his pants. She slid her hand in and elicited a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan: a lustful hybrid of surprise and gratification. 

His cock throbbed in her hand. Astrid had almost forgotten how he felt, how hard and relentless he was when aroused. But it was significantly more difficult to forget how incredible he felt inside her. A glimpse of him around Berk was sometimes all it took to set off a cascade of midday fantasies that threatened to steal her from her work. All she knew was Hiccup, and he was all she needed.

Sure, she noticed others—who hadn’t noticed the foreign-born, former dragon trapper in their midst? But her desires never strayed; the libidinous corner of her brain never entertained the thought. It was something akin to imprinting their bodies on one another. Her own sex ached at the salacious dreams and memories: what they had been missing out on, and how long it had been, relatively speaking.

“How do you want to do this?” she asked, hoping she sounded sultry enough; she couldn’t remember the last time she used that voice.

“I…I don’t care,” Hiccup murmured, distracted; lost in the sensation of her palming his shaft.

“Fine,” she sighed in mock-exasperation.

It was fascinating to watch his breathing, noting the rate and erratic pattern increasing with the tighter and more deliberate way she stroked his cock. He was rich in unique mannerisms and idiosyncrasies that Astrid had found herself simply staring more than once, whether it be from across the table or across the mead hall. Sex was no exception. Hiccup was interesting, and different; and absolutely perfect in his ways.

And she switched their positions, walking him back until he fell back against the bed without protest. He did not miss a beat; he shimmied his pants down as far as his prosthetic would comfortably allow. Astrid was already naked—one of those minute details her brain had not deemed fit to track. More importantly now was that Hiccup was naked, more or less; and his rigid length stood proud and unencumbered between his legs. Astrid’s own sex answered with a dull but persistent throbbing.

“Yes,” Hiccup whispered as she crawled over him.

His eyes were alight with anticipation, like the were before a fast and vigorous flight. Considering how much the latter meant to him, his excitement was significant.

She straddled him, bracing herself with two hands on his abdomen as she eased down the length of his cock. Her eyes closed, and his head fell back. They exhaled together, then breathed in a shared sense of wholeness.

“Undo your braid for me,” he said, so sweetly that it was more a suggestion. Astrid opened her eyes again and the tender brush of his fingertips along her thighs. “Please,” he added.

She smiled down at him, reaching up to pull the tie that held her intricate plait together. She deftly unwove it, letting her long, heavy curtain of gold spill down over her shoulders. It hung loose, with the scent of bathing oils, and Hiccup seemed satisfied. He propped himself up on one elbow, reaching up to loving run his fingers through her hair. She only ever let it down for him, just as he only ever let her touch his prosthetic. There were more personal areas of the body than many people realized; many ways to be intimately explored.

“You are so beautiful, Astrid,” he murmured.

“A braid really makes all of the difference, huh?” she teased.

He frowned. “Why do you feel the need to do that? That’s not what I—mmn.”

Astrid leaned down and cut him off with a kiss. “I was joking. Shut up,” she whispered against his lips.

She rolled her hips over his and no further words were spoken. With one hand above his navel, and the other on his good leg behind her, she found her pace. He moaned, and she reveled in the noises he made. He had almost become too serious—forgotten himself in his new role. She wanted to strip that away and show him there were times he didn’t need to act so dignified.

“Oh gods,” he whispered to no one in particular.

He held on to her hips desperately and thrust up to meet every downward grin of her sex onto his. She rode him, hard, because she delighted in his rapturous micro-expressions, adored each throaty love-sound. She drove every ounce of repressed desire from the past few weeks into the friction where bodies met. The distinction between them blurred; it was all one delicious heat. Her breathing grew ragged, her hips undulating around his cock as he tried to push deeper. But she controlled their efforts, muscles clenching beneath moist skin, skillfully moving to their mutual pleasure. Her body twisted rhythmically. She rocked over him with a sort of ebb and flow; and he was completely powerless. For the first time in weeks.

She noticed the beads of sweat gathering along his upper lip and hair line. The waning sunlight glistened off them. Hiccup had surrendered, his eyes closed and head extended. Astrid bent down to bite the sensitive flesh of his neck. He moaned, and one of his hands came up to grasp had the strands of hair stuck to sweaty shoulders. The other fell to squeeze a generous amount of her ass.

“Hiccup…,” she said softly, straightening up again with the salt of his skin lingering on her tongue. She resumed her wanton grinding, feeling his length pressing and rubbing in all the right places.

He smiled, looking up at her through half-lidded eyes.

“We…need to do this more often,” he said between panting breaths.

Astrid laughed. “I know, babe. That’s what I’ve been saying.”

Hiccup shook his head and closed his eyes again. “Mm. No you haven’t. I tend to remember when you say you want me.”

“Well, I’ve certainly been thinking it.”

“Me too.”

She took one of his hands and brought it to her lips. He watched intently as she kissed each fingertip. With her tongue, she traced the length of his middle finger, then took the digit in her mouth down to the knuckle. She slowed the roll of her hips to match her languid sucking.

“You’re going to destroy me, Astrid,” he teased. “Oh, my gods.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” she asked, trying her best to feign innocence as she simulated fellatio on his middle finger.

“Not if I get to go out like this.”

“But what would I tell Berk?” she replied, speeding up her hips again.

He moaned softly then replied, “That I died doing what I loved most.”

She wrinkled her nose. “They’ll think you died in some flying accident.”

“Exactly. It’s the perfect cover.”

Astrid smirked and rolled her eyes. “I love you, Hiccup Haddock.”

He grinned. “I know you do. And I love you.”

“Well, why wouldn’t you?”

They shared a laugh and paused for a kiss. It felt right for a moment, like things were the same as before; that nothing terrible had happened—that it was the last days of summer again, before they knew of dragon trappers, ice -spitting dragons, and any of the heartache to follow it. They hadn’t moved on past the tragedy, but they were coping better with each passing day.

When they resumed, it was with purpose. Drawn out sex was lovely, but they needed an overdue release. Astrid needed to shudder and break around him in ecstasy. She wanted to push him over the edge as well, to see him toss his head back with that low, raw, masculine cry that he gave: the very one that always rippled down her spine to amplify the hot convulsions of her own sex.

The room was filled with moans and erratic breathing, underscored by the indecent noises of what could not be more adequately referred to by any word other than fucking. Astrid rode him in such away that her clit rubbed against him. Her breath hitched, and she clenched; and his short fingernails dug into the flesh of her ass.

“Hiccup…” she murmured, jerking her hips with the same angle and speed. There was no higher thought to her movements now, just seeking that extra stimulation—those small hits to the epicenter of her pleasure.

Everything seemed foggy. Intoxicated. With full, parted lips she came to those repeated little jolts of lightning and the sight of Hiccup watching her fall. She cried his name. Probably. Her eyes snapped shut and she felt her orgasm burst from between her legs, up through her navel and racing down to curl her toes. Her body arched, and she was vaguely aware of hands roaming over her—to the small of her back and over her breasts, dragging those tingling sensations all the way up to her collar bone. She was overcome by one delicious spasm after another, feeling her sex squeeze and relax however much the thickness of his cock allowed.

Then his hands, usually so gentle and polite, were suddenly like vices on her hips. She was too far gone to care much how Hiccup moved her over his shaft. With what little strength she had, she helped—but she was still much too adrift to maintain such an urgent pace without his direction. It only took a few more desperate thrusts before he tensed, pulling out of her in one fluid motion. The head of his cock pressed into the crook of her hip, where he came with that guttural moan that set of the last few aftershocks of her orgasms. She watched with dazed fascination as his fist pumped furiously on his shaft, spilling every drop of his seed into the juncture between her groin and upper thigh. It wasn’t all that unpleasant to feel it, warm and sticky, on her skin.

Hiccup’s arm then fell limply against the bed. His other hand still rested tenderly on her hip, but his grip was as slack as the rest of him. In Astrid’s humble opinion, he seldom looked hotter than he did in post-coital bliss: naked, hair disheveled, skin flushed and sweaty, with bare chest heaving and an obscenely wet cock.

She carefully climbed off him, curling into his side despite the mess. He didn’t seem the care in the slightest, hugging her closer. Her head rested on his shoulder, face turned in toward his neck. She breathed in the combined scent of their hair, skin, and sweat; and felt the bittersweet sting of reality—that it was wonderful, and it might be weeks more before they held each other in the same way.

Her hand sought his where it had come to rest on his stomach. Their fingers entwined with an affectionate squeeze. He undoubtedly had to be thinking the same thing.

But the stresses of life were temporary; they came and went. She and Hiccup were steady and sure. They would weather anything and enjoy unhurried love and affection when the storms cleared. Of that, neither of them had any doubt. If nothing else, they were relentless and headstrong. They were Vikings, after all. And they were surviving.


End file.
